


Impressions on Paper and Skin

by emungere



Series: Ladders [19]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Light Angst, M/M, Physical Therapy, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 08:53:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8838295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/pseuds/emungere
Summary: Will finished the bookcases for Hannibal’s office shortly after he got his casts off. It was one of the things he’d been putting off until he could walk again. Once he discovered he still couldn’t do more than hobble along, the bookcases were a welcome distraction.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [纸肤印象](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15275157) by [Lisimo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisimo/pseuds/Lisimo)



> Thank so much to fitofpique for the beta and to Marina for the idea of Hannibal "helping" with Will's physical therapy. <3

Will finished the bookcases for Hannibal’s office shortly after he got his casts off. It was one of the things he’d been putting off until he could walk again. Once he discovered he still couldn’t do more than hobble along, the bookcases were a welcome distraction. 

He locked himself in the back room, shoved the walker into a corner, and supported himself with various pieces of furniture and lumber. It made it easier to pretend he wasn’t sulking. It was also easier, alone, to check out the healing design on his thigh when he wanted to, which was often, though he knew he should leave the bandage in place. 

When the bookcases were done, he sat down and looked at the space. Hannibal had suggested the room as an office for him, and Will did have a desk stuck over in one corner. The rest of it was a wreck of sawdust, ordinary dust, muddy paw prints from the dogs, scraps of wood, and oil from his tools. 

Sunlight shone in through floor-to-ceiling windows, which also offered a view of the garden and pond and the woods beyond. Under his mess, the floors were oak. They needed refinishing, but that wouldn’t be hard and most of it could be done on his knees. Not much point if it was going to be a workshop, but he didn’t know what else it could be. He didn’t need a whole room just for his consulting work. 

He shuffled over to the windows, one hand on the wall, and stood looking out at the woods. It wasn’t that different from his view in Wolf Trap. He wondered how many houses in the world had been built with an enclosing wall of trees to guard them. 

He heard Wig’s overexcited yips and then a knock on the door. “What?” he called. 

“Lunch is ready,” Hannibal said. 

“Be there in a second.” He grabbed a piece of lumber to use as a cane and made his way over to the door. 

Hannibal was waiting for him in the hall. He looked at the board in Will’s hand. 

“I’m fine,” Will said. 

Hannibal said nothing but offered his arm. Will took it and leaned into him with relief, more tired than he’d realized. 

“What’s for lunch?” 

“A potimarron galette and pomegranate glazed duck.” 

“Sounds great. What’s a potimarron?”

“It’s a variety of winter squash. I believe I may buy a piano when we go to Paris.”

“Okay. What brought that on?” 

“One moment.” There was a pause while Hannibal served and they both settled at the table. “I have been thinking of music more and more often. You were right to suggest that Jack might be looking at purchase patterns and a harpsichord could be unwise, but pianos are far more common.” 

Will remembered his rant in the china shop with a small wince. “But you’d rather have the harpsichord, right?”

“Yes. They are very different instruments. Notes may linger on the piano. A certain amount of control is provided by the pedals. In contrast, the harpsichord is far more immediate.” 

“The past and the present,” Will suggested. 

Hannibal dipped his chin an inch, maybe in thought as much as response. “One could say that the piano has the quality of memory, yes. One chooses which notes to dwell on. With the harpsichord there is little choice. It is all or nothing.” 

“I’m surprised you like it better.” 

“I find it more challenging,” Hannibal said. “And more interesting to compose for. Each note has equal weight and therefore must have equal meaning.” 

Will thought of the airy room at the back of the house, currently covered in sawdust, but with plenty of space for a piano. Or something else. Christmas was coming up fast. He wondered how hard it would be to do some kind of under-the-table deal for a harpsichord. If not, he could at least get the room ready for a piano. 

“You have mail, by the way,” Hannibal said. “It’s on the kitchen counter.”

“From who?” 

“Ms. Lounds. A large envelope. Something to do with the book contract, perhaps?” 

“I’ve signed about a thousand things for the damn book already. I don’t know what could be left.”

“Perhaps they’re looking into a movie deal.” 

Will stopped eating. He stared at the envelope across the room for a seconds and then got up. Every muscle he owned protested, not just the ones in his legs. Very slowly, he sank back into his chair. Hannibal went and got it for him without a word. 

Will ripped it open and relaxed when no official looking documents slid out. “It’s just fan mail. I told her I didn’t want to see this stuff.” 

There was a cover letter from Lounds, scrawled in loopy letters on half a sheet of yellow notepaper. Will read it through and then read it again. 

“Will?” 

“It’s nothing,” Will said. “Fan mail, like I said.” He set the envelope aside with difficulty and concentrated on his food, trying to ignore Hannibal’s stare boring into his forehead. 

\\*

After lunch, alone again in the back room, he read Lounds’s letter a third time. It said that she knew Will hadn’t wanted to see any of the mail the book had generated, but she thought he might want this. It was from the family of one of the guards Hannibal had killed in the process of breaking Will out of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Her note closed with an even more hastily scrawled PS: 

_I didn’t open it, thought you’d be mad. If they wrote to be assholes about it, fuck 'em, it’s not your fault. People just need someone to blame._

If they had written to be assholes about it, they’d found exactly the right person to blame. Will held the enclosed envelope between his palms. It was cream colored, shaped like a greeting card, with a Hallmark logo on the back. That was encouraging. He was pretty sure Hallmark didn’t make it-should’ve-been-you cards. He pulled out his pocket knife and slit it open. 

It was a card. There was a photo of a yellow daisy on the front. Underneath the daisy, it said _Thank You_. Will thumbed the edge and then unfolded it. 

_Dear Mr. Graham,_

_At first we couldn’t guess where the money could’ve come from, but my brother-in-law saw you on Crime Boss. He said you said you wanted it to be anonymous, but I couldn’t just say nothing when you’ve been so generous. Thank you. I really didn’t know how we’d get by. I feel like I should say you ought to take it back, but I can’t, so just thank you. My son Billy drew you a picture, and I told him I’d put it in here. I hope this gets to you. You don’t need to write back or anything._

_Bless you,  
Mary Hodges_

Will unfolded the picture with no idea what to expect. It was dinosaurs. It was him and Billy’s father fighting dinosaurs. He and the guard were helpfully labeled — Mr. Graham and Dad — and the dinosaurs looked like the little spitty ones from _Jurassic Park_. Will rubbed a hand over his mouth and left it there, pressing his lip against his teeth. He looked at the picture without blinking for so long that his eyes started to burn. Overlaid on the drawing, he saw the guard’s body on the floor. Will had stepped over him when he left the cell. 

He stood and grabbed his makeshift cane, opened the window, and swung his legs over the sill. He was aware that this would probably end with Hannibal coming to rescue him and help him back to the house. He set off for the woods anyway, moving at a snail’s pace through the garden. He just needed to leave, even if he couldn’t go far.  

It was the longest walk he’d taken since September. His legs were shaking by the time he made it into the trees. Just under their sheltering shadow, he dropped down onto a fallen trunk and rested his head in his hands. 

The worst part was that this wasn’t even a sincere attempt to be alone. He wanted Hannibal to come after him, wanted his voice and his hands and his comfort, despite everything. Despite the body on the floor of the prison. Despite the fact that Hannibal would look at that drawing and feel nothing. 

The sun shone relentlessly in a winter-blue sky cracked by bare branches. Wind whistled and groaned through the forest. Small things skittered through the piles of dry leaves, and birds hopped around overhead. Will stayed where he was, waiting, and didn’t feel as guilty as he knew he should. 

Winston found him first. Will saw him tear out the back door and head straight for the woods. Wig was close behind him. Hannibal followed the dogs and reached Will’s fallen tree. He sat down next to him. Will leaned against his side. Hannibal’s posture relaxed, and he put an arm around Will’s shoulders. 

“It was from the family of one of the guys you killed,” Will said. 

“If they wrote to reproach you—”

“No. To say thank you. For the money.”

“I see. You don’t believe you deserve thanks.” 

“I don’t need anyone else telling me it wasn’t my fault, Hannibal. You were there. You know what happened.” 

“You did not kill them.” 

“I might as well have. I asked you to get me out. I knew people were going to die.”

Wig had scrambled up to sit on the log, and Hannibal scratched behind her ears with one careful finger. “I set up the situation that ended with you killing Garret Jacob Hobbs. Is his death my responsibility?” 

“Of course not. I’m the one who shot him.” 

“And I am the one who broke the guard’s neck.” Hannibal laid a finger against Will’s cheek and turned his head so that they were looking at each other. “I am not your weapon, Will. You can’t choose where to point me and pull the trigger.” 

Will pressed his palm over the wound on his thigh, feeling it throb in time with his heart. “You sure about that?” 

“I would happily kill for you, but that is also my choice. You can’t absolve me of the things I have done by eating my sins yourself, even if you find it easier to bear your own guilt than mine.”

Winston leaned against Will’s leg. The dry leaves crackled under his feet. Will took an unsteady breath and felt an old ache behind his ribs start to ease. “You might have a point.” 

“As I have mentioned before, I am an excellent psychiatrist.” 

It was calculated to make Will laugh, and he did manage a smile. “Back to the house?” 

“Yes. A bath and a massage, I think, and a proper cane if you will insist on ignoring the walking frame.” 

“It makes me feel like I’m eighty.”

“Most eighty-year-olds can walk a great deal better than you can right now.” 

“Thanks,” Will said. “That’s really helpful.” 

Hannibal stood and helped him to his feet. 

\\*

Will lay on his back on the bed the next day, alternately pointing and flexing his feet as Hannibal directed. It made the tops of his feet feel like they were on fire and his calf muscles feel like they were going to snap. “You’re enjoying this,” he said. 

“Only in the sense that it will help your recovery.” 

“You’re enjoying this in a sadistic way. Sadism lite.”

Hannibal ran a hand and a critical eye over the top of Will’s foot. “You can manage more than that, I think.” 

Will pointed harder. “I think my toes are cramping.” 

“If you would use the walking frame and resign yourself to a slower recovery—“

“No,” Will said between his teeth. 

“Then you will forgive me for trying to make sure you don’t fall and break something else.” 

“I might. Eventually.” 

Hannibal tapped his ankle. “Enough. Relax. Let’s try something else.” 

Will eyed him. “Like what?” 

“Take your clothes off.” 

“I don’t want another bath,” Will said, aware of sounding like a cranky child but unable to do anything about it. 

“That’s not what I had in mind.” 

There was no hint on Hannibal’s face of what he did have in mind. After a second, Will started stripping anyway. He let Hannibal direct him across the room until he was facing the wall with his palms flat against it. 

“If this was a setup for sex, you didn’t need the setup,” Will said. 

“It’s not. Or not only that.” Hannibal knelt next to him and nudged one foot forward and one back. “Lean into the wall and tell me how that feels.” 

Will could feel the pull of unused muscles down the back of his calf and all the way into his heel. “It’s a stretch. Not too bad.” 

“Do you think you can hold it for a while?” 

Will nodded. 

“Good. Tell me when you would like to stop.” Hannibal shifted to kneel behind him, put both hands on his ass to spread him open and licked hard between his cheeks. 

“Fuck,” Will said. It was involuntary and loud enough that Winston was startled out of his fireside nap and scrambled to his feet with a low, inquisitive bark. “S’okay,” Will told him. “Oh God, oh—” 

Hannibal stopped. “Hands flat against the wall, please, and straighten your back leg. If you want me to continue.” 

Will dropped his head with a thunk against the wall. And then he got back into position. He could call Hannibal a manipulative asshole later, when he could think about something else besides that tongue wriggling against his hole. 

He had no idea how long he held the stretch. Hannibal stopped to reposition him once more and then again to shift him to the other leg. Will was aware of his thighs shaking toward the end. He barely felt it. Hannibal licked at him in broad strokes, flicked the point of his tongue over the ring of muscle, barely making contact, and pressed in until Will was making ungodly sounds that he couldn’t hear over his own pulse. 

Sweat gathered under his arms and along his spine. His balls ached, and his cock was hard, jerking out little strings of pre-come with every hard press of Hannibal’s tongue. 

When Hannibal pulled back, Will bit his lip hard to keep from yelling at him to finish the job already. He slumped forward against the wall instead and rested his hot face against the cool plaster. Hannibal put an arm around him and guided him to the bed. 

Will fell backwards onto it and stared up at the ceiling, nearly panting. He gripped the base of his cock. “Did you have something else in mind? If not, I’m finishing this without you.” 

“I did, in fact.” Hannibal knelt at the foot of the bed, caught Will by the hips, hauled him forward, and swallowed his cock.

“Fuck,” Will said again. This time he had no idea if he’d startled the dog. He grabbed for the headboard and ended up clutching the pillow instead, overwhelmed by the hot, slick slide of Hannibal’s tongue, the suction, the tight ring of his lips. Hannibal took him in all the way and swallowed around him. The clench of his throat muscles and tiny noise he made sent Will over the edge, and he came with his body twisted upward and his heels dug into Hannibal’s back. 

His body unwound slowly, cooling, settling back on the bed. He flexed his fingers and toes and got his eyes open. Hannibal still knelt between his legs, chin on Will’s thigh. He had his eyes half-closed and radiated satisfaction. 

“You look pretty smug considering you did all the work,” Will said. 

“On the contrary, you did a great deal, though I think we’ll try a few more exercises tomorrow. Twice a day should be sufficient.” 

“Twice a day. For the physical therapy, or …?” 

“Yes. To both.” 

Will dropped his head back onto the pillows. “Remember when I asked you to just break my neck if you planned to kill me?” 

“I never promised you that. I only said I’d consider it.” Hannibal kissed the arch of his foot and crawled up onto the bed beside him. “We’ll get you a cane. You’ll be ready for Paris in a week or two.” 

“If you do that twice a day, I’m not going to survive a week or two.” 

Hannibal smiled at him, nearly showing his teeth. “Nonsense. It will be an admirable distraction.”

\\*

They were both right. Will was distracted. He was distracted to the point where he could barely think of anything but Hannibal’s mouth on him and Hannibal’s fingers inside him. The exercises passed almost unnoticed while he was doing them — and Hannibal was doing him — but caught up with him afterwards. They combined with his work on the music room floor to leave him sore, dazed, and exhausted for most of the next week. 

He got the final coat of stain on, closed the door behind him, and went out back to breathe something other than fumes and throw sticks for the dogs. The sky was a deep slate gray. The air smelled like snow, though it couldn’t be much below 40. 

Hannibal had woken him up at seven and had him write the alphabet in the air with his toes while Hannibal licked slowly at his cock. Will had done his stretches while Hannibal fingered his ass. He’d come in Hannibal’s mouth and nearly rolled over and went straight back to sleep. Last night after dinner, he’d fucked Hannibal against the wall. Hannibal had made him stop every two minutes to do toe raises. 

The door opened behind him. “Will? Lunch will be ready soon.” 

“Okay. I’ll be there in a second.” 

Hannibal came to stand beside him. “You’re flushed.” 

Will flushed further. “I keep thinking about it.” 

“About lunch?” 

“Not about lunch. You know.” 

Hannibal slid a hand down his back to cup his ass. “There’s no reason we can’t add another session in the middle of the day. If you can’t wait until after dinner.” 

Will’s cock gave a little jerk at that, despite its morning workout. “Were we not doing it enough for you while I had the casts on or something?”

Hannibal paused. “It was, perhaps, less frequent than previously. For understandable reasons.”

“So we’re making up for lost time now?” 

Hannibal kissed his neck. “Twice a day isn’t all that unusual for us.” 

“It’s not usually _scheduled.”_ That was the part that was really messing with him. Knowing it was coming and when and wondering what Hannibal might dream up next. 

“We could stop, of course. I wouldn’t wish to make you uncomfortable.” 

“You love making me uncomfortable.” 

“Only with your willing participation,” Hannibal said. It was probably more or less true now. 

Will sighed. “I’m not uncomfortable. But at some point, I do need to be able to use my brain again.” 

Hannibal slid both arms around him and moved one hand down to rub over the front of his pants. “But not now?” 

Will leaned back against him and swallowed. “Not right now, no.” 

“Good. Lunch will wait a little longer.” 

Will let himself be led inside, feeling slightly like he was being led to the slaughter. He was getting hard anyway. Hannibal steered him to the couch and bent him over the back of it. Will couldn’t lean into it because of the wooden ridge along the top, so he gripped it and used it for balance while Hannibal pressed him lower. He ended up with his legs spread and his back almost parallel to the floor. 

Hannibal stood just behind him, hands on his hips. “Is there something in particular you’d like?” 

Will shook his head. “Anything. Anything you want.” 

Hannibal knelt beside him. “Lift your toes off the ground. Keep the rest of your foot flat. Yes, good. Twenty of those, please. Tell me if you experience any pain.” 

It didn’t hurt. It was a strain on muscles Will had never previously been aware of, but he was aware of them only until Hannibal got his pants down and two slick fingers in his ass. 

“Continue, please,” Hannibal said. 

Will bit the inside of his lip and tried to remember that he had toes. It didn’t last long. 

Hannibal made an amused sound. “Let’s try this. One repetition, and one repetition of this.” He slid his fingers lightly around Will’s prostate. 

Will made an inarticulate noise. He raised his toes again. Hannibal moved his fingers, and the spike of pleasure made Will’s knees wobble. His cock was leaking down his thigh. He had no idea how many he’d done or what would happen when he got to twenty, and maybe that was part of the appeal: Hannibal calling the shots while Will let his brain dissolve. 

Hannibal kept rubbing inside him, an excruciatingly light touch. Will did his best to concentrate on the exercises, but he faltered again and again and only the realization that Hannibal had stopped moving too got him going again. He rested his forehead against the couch and pushed his hips out. 

Hannibal held him firmly in position and wouldn’t let him fuck back onto his fingers. “You’re almost done,” he murmured. “Two more. One. There we are.” 

Will breathed slowly through his nose. Hannibal stroked his side. “Now what?” Will said. 

“What would you like?”

Will just shook his head and spread his legs a little more. He didn’t want to decide. 

Hannibal was silent for a second, and then Will heard the sound of his zipper going down. He held Will’s hips in his hands and squeezed. “I thought I would wait until tonight, but you’ve made me as impatient as you are.” 

“So _hurry up already.”_ Will wanted to reach back for him, but he needed his grip on the couch to stay steady, especially as Hannibal pushed into him. 

His cock stretched Will much wider than his fingers had, and they hadn’t done this for a while. It had been Hannibal’s mouth on him or Will grinding into Hannibal’s body, and he had almost forgotten what it was like. It made him feel almost feverish with the need for more. 

He pushed back and this time Hannibal let him. Hannibal took his hips and fucked forward and pushed a choked sound from Will’s throat. The pace he set was brutal, and the quick stabs of pleasure inside him made Will curse again and again until words dissolved into pleading noises. He couldn’t let go of the couch to get himself off. He needed Hannibal to do it, needed it so badly that he couldn’t find the breath to ask. 

Hannibal finally laid himself over Will’s back and wrapped a slick fist around his cock. He fucked into Will in short, hard thrusts and stroked him and squeezed him until Will came, panting harshly, face buried in the crook of his arm. Hannibal grunted and pushed into him harder. He dragged the nails of one hand down Will’s side and came as well, trembling with tension and perfectly still. 

A few seconds passed. Will started to become aware of the weakness in his legs, the chill in the air, and the sweat drying on his skin. He wondered if he was going to have to ask for help standing up. 

He didn’t. Hannibal pulled him back against his chest before he pulled out of his body. He held him there, arms around him, nuzzling into the side of his neck. Will closed his eyes and let Hannibal hold him up. He wasn’t sure he had bones anymore. 

“Will you be angry if I offer to carry you to bed?” Hannibal said. 

Will shook his head. He pushed his pants the rest of the way off and left them on the floor. Hannibal took him into the bedroom and laid him down on the bed. He stroked Will’s cheek. “That was longer than I had planned for. I’m concerned about lunch. I’ll be back in a moment.” 

“Go on. I’m fine.” 

He left. Will’s shirt was damp with sweat, and he took that off too. He was settled under the covers and considering the possibility of staying there all afternoon when Hannibal came back with a tray. 

“Lunch was okay?” Will said. 

“It was not. I have improvised. Crepes with seared pears, smoked gouda, and thyme.” 

“And we’re eating it in bed?” 

“It seems the least I can do after wearing you out so thoroughly,” Hannibal said. He almost managed not to sound smug about it. He set the tray on the bed and folded his pants before he got in beside Will. 

“What was in the oven?” Will asked. 

“We won’t speak of it.” 

“Was it worth it?” 

Hannibal kissed his temple. “I have no regrets.” 

Will dozed off at some point when they had finished eating. He dreamed of Hannibal playing the harpsichord in a room filled with light.

**Author's Note:**

> You can check out my [original writing here](http://www.eleanorkos.com/) if you're interested. This is my tumblr: [emungere.tumblr.com](http://emungere.tumblr.com), and here is the [tumblr post for this story](http://emungere.tumblr.com/post/154421791837/impressions-on-paper-and-skin-emungere).


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